


bury me in memory

by itsafuckingdeathwish



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Heart Attacks, M/M, Memories, This is Bad, but guess what im lazy, but since when has that stopped me from posting shit, ik i said i was gonna edit it, im single and lonely can u tell, might rewrite later, this is so bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 16:27:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15271545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsafuckingdeathwish/pseuds/itsafuckingdeathwish
Summary: The doctor frowns back.  “Yes, it says here that he was diagnosed…seven months ago.  Did---did he not tell you?”No.  No, he didn’t.  This is just like Pete---he’d probably say some bullshit about not wanting to ruin their last few months together, not wanting Patrick to worry.  He can almost hear Pete---until he remembers that no, Pete’s dead, he’ll never hear that voice again, never be able to ask him why, never be able to do anything, ever again.All those memories he’d been thinking of when the doctor had come in---had Pete known, that whole time?basically the first bit is fluffy, the second bit is angst (u cld read just the first part if u don't want angst)





	bury me in memory

**Author's Note:**

> no tw but it's sad so yeah

Patrick was impossibly happy. This shouldn’t have been happening. This kind of sunshiney, laughing for no reason, singing your heart out on a rooftop, ultra-kind of love shouldn’t have been even imaginable, and yet it was, and it was happening to him.

  
He stared up at the ceiling fan spinning lazily, the breeze whispering against his skin, and smiled. The worn bedsheets were tangled all around his legs, which were tangled with Pete’s. His much more tanned hand caught Patrick’s wrist, gently drawing it up to his chest to play with the fingers lightly.

  
A breathy laugh caught in Patrick’s throat, and he didn’t know whether to smile because he was so lucky, or to cry for the same reason, so he did neither. With a contented murmur, he pressed closer to Pete in his tiny twin bed. So softly that even Patrick himself wasn’t sure he’d said it, he sighed, “I love you,” then closed his eyes against his boyfriend’s chest, letting the sound of his heartbeat lull him almost to sleep. It had been barely more than a breath, but it seemed loud enough to drown out the city streaking by just outside the window.

  
A few moments passed, long enough that Patrick figured Pete hadn’t heard, and had almost forgotten he’d said it, but then a voice murmured into his ear. “I love you too.”

…………………………………………………………….

Golden blood pumped through his veins as Patrick swung his guitar, hitting a high note with all of his body, like slamming a punching bag. He glanced to his left, where Pete was grinning at him. The purple spotlights pooled like water in his collarbones and shone from his eyes like exploding stars.

  
Patrick was completely sober, but he’d never felt higher than when he was playing a show, with Pete by his side. He was buzzed on Pete, drinking him in like shots at an afterparty, always always always coming back for more.

  
He had absolutely no clue how the fans didn’t know by now. He felt like he’d been staring at Pete for the whole show, probably looking absolutely lovedrunk, moonstruck, starcrossed.

  
As he sang Pete’s lyrics, all he could see was that rainy Tuesday afternoon. Patrick had been lazily strumming his favorite acoustic on his bed with Pete stretched out beside him, humming melodies to himself and scribbling words into a notebook, pausing every so often to kiss Patrick’s neck just to make his hand stutter on the frets.

  
Patrick hadn’t minded.

  
The crowd roared as Patrick strummed one final note, jerking him out of the memory, but real life was just as good right now. He and Pete shared one last smile before they launched into the next song, and Patrick didn’t think he’d ever sung harder in his life.

……………………………………………………………………

  
Patrick tapped his foot on Pete’s mom’s kitchen floor, his gaze fixed on the old coffeemaker. It was too quiet; the only sounds were the hum of the refrigerator, the drip of one of the pipes under the sink, and the muffled traffic outside.

  
Finally, Pete’s voice rang out. “So, uh, Patrick and I…we’ve been…uh…” He swayed a bit, gripping the chair next to him, then stilled again.

  
Patrick didn’t realize he was going to speak until the words were already out of his mouth. “We’re dating,” he blurted out.

  
Joe was the first to respond. “That’s what you wanted to tell us? Shit, man, don’t scare me like that. Thought somebody was dead or some shit.”

  
“Guys…we know,” Andy chimed in.

  
Pete looked adorably confused. “Wait – what? You already knew?”

  
Joe grinned. “Yeah, for like three months now. You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

  
Patrick couldn’t help himself; a laugh bubbled up out of his throat, spilling out onto the worn linoleum. He couldn’t have been happier. He had a loving boyfriend, and supportive friends. This was his fairytale ending. This was where the director yelled cut, the actors sighed in relief, and the end credits rolled because everyone was undeniably, perfectly, finally happy.

…………………………………………………………………….

Patrick’s life felt like a music video. Jump cuts, a million different angles, lens flares, the whole world tinted bright colors. That was certainly how he felt right now.

  
The wind gusted for nobody but them, whipping back their hair as they whooshed along the empty roads. The car, life, everything, was moving impossibly fast, but Patrick didn’t feel left behind for one instant; he was raring to go. Everything felt so saturated, with colors, with pure feelings.  
Pete was drumming the fingers of one hand on the steering wheel along to the beat of whatever shitty pop song was playing on the radio and holding Patrick’s hand loosely with the other.

  
They weren’t going anywhere, just driving too fast on the empty highway. Patrick knew that the scenery out here was beautiful, but he couldn’t look away from the man in the driver’s seat.

  
Neither of them had said a word for miles, but they didn’t need to.

  
Eventually, as dusk started to wash over the world and lit the sky on fire, Pete finally spoke. “So, I may have lied about something.”

  
Patrick laughed a bit. “What is it? No, wait, let me guess. Is it…you’re secretly an alien? No! You’re secretly having kinky sex with your secret alien boyfriend and you two have a secret half alien child!”

  
Pete winced for a second, putting a hand up to his chest, then faux glared, and Patrick stuck his tongue out at his boyfriend. “No, not quite. We actually do have a destination, it was just a surprise.”

  
Patrick grinned and started bouncing up and down in his seat like he was a little kid again. “Ooh, where are we going?”

  
“You’ll see! We’re…almost there…and…here!” As he finished talking, Pete carelessly pulled off the road into a huge open field, filled with wildflowers and the sound of the crickets chirping.

  
“What’s this?” Patrick jumped down from the old pickup truck, looking around. It really was pretty, especially in the dying sunlight and emerging stars.

  
“We’re stargazing!” Pete exclaimed, pulling a few old blankets and laying them out on the back of the truck messily. “Come on!”

  
Patrick smiled and clumsily jumped up into the truck bed. He laid down next to Pete, snuggling close. It was the height of summer, but in the sunset it was a bit chilly. He didn’t mind.

  
“Thank you,” Patrick murmured into Pete’s shoulder, tracing lines on his skin.  
Pete just rolled over, smiled, and kissed him in the starlight.

……………………………………………………………………

“Mr. Stump. Mr. Stump?” The voice rings out harshly in Patrick’s ears. The memories fracture, splintering into a million tiny pieces.  
Everything seems louder in a hospital, but does it really matter if you have nothing to say?

  
Patrick shakes his head a bit, then looks up at the doctor. Imagine being paid to tell hopeless people that the only thing keeping them alive was gone. Patrick knows he wouldn’t be able to take it---it’s bad enough being the person told. “Y-yeah? What is it? How is he?”

  
The last of Patrick’s hope flees with the doctor’s breath as he sighs heavily, pity swimming in his eyes. “Mr. Stump…I’m sorry to have to inform you of this, but Mr. Wentz passed away at 9:37. His cardiomyopathy caused ventricular fibrillation, which caused him to go into sudden cardiac arrest…”

  
Patrick stops listening. (Nothing he’s saying makes any sense anyway.) He lets the doctor’s words turn into nothing more than white noise, blending with the bustle of nurses and the constant beeping hearts. All he can think of is the doctor saying “passed away,” looping over and over and over again in Patrick’s mind. “Passed away” is just a nicer way of saying “dead,” which is just a nicer way of saying that he’s gone forever and never coming back.

  
“…unfortunately, his ACE inhibitors and beta blockers do not seem to have worked---”

  
Patrick frowns. “You mean he was already on meds for the cardiomyopathy? He already knew he had it?”

  
The doctor frowns back. “Yes, it says here that he was diagnosed…seven months ago. Did---did he not tell you?”

  
No. No, he didn’t. This is just like Pete---he’d probably say some bullshit about not wanting to ruin their last few months together, not wanting Patrick to worry. He can almost hear Pete---until he remembers that no, Pete’s dead, he’ll never hear that voice again, never be able to ask him why, never be able to do anything, ever again.  
All those memories he’d been thinking of when the doctor had come in---had Pete known, that whole time?

  
When he’d fallen asleep on Pete’s chest to the rhythm of his heartbeat, had it been completely regular? Had those little silences been his heart skipping a beat? When they’d played on stage, had every time Pete stumbled, slowed on his feet, been his greedy, too-big heart stealing his energy? When he sometimes swayed a bit on his feet, was that the dizziness? Had those occasional winces been chest pain?

  
Pete doesn’t realize it (he doesn’t realize anything anymore, Patrick can’t help but think), but by not telling him, he’d already poisoned those last precious months. They’re tainted for Patrick, stained by the knowledge that Pete had been dying the whole time, and had kept it a secret from Patrick.

  
A tear drips onto the papers the doctor had given him, and his face is soaked, but he doesn’t even know when he’d begun crying; all he knows is that now, he can’t stop, and he doesn’t know if he ever will.

  
Maybe for the rest of his life he’ll just walk around as a storm cloud, forever sad, forever raining.

  
(The only thing that was supposed to be forever in his life was Pete.)

  
Maybe when you love an ultra-kind of love, you feel an ultra-kind of pain when it’s ripped away from you.

  
Cardiomyopathy is an enlarged heart, too big, the body can’t handle it. Patrick thinks Pete’s heart was too big because he had half of Patrick’s too, but now that he was dead, there was a hole in his chest and it could never be fixed, just stitched up good-as-new.

  
No, Pete had left, and he’d taken everything good in Patrick’s life with him.  

**Author's Note:**

> hope u liked it!! as several ppl know ive been working on this for wayyyyyyyyyy too long so i just decided fuck it im posting this, i might rewrite it later tho, we'll see. pls pls pls kudos and comment!! hmu on tumblr @ohderesistance!!


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